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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22569916">Stories of the Second Self: Jack of All Trades</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/John_Steiner/pseuds/John_Steiner'>John_Steiner</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Alter Idem [85]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Urban Fantasy - Fandom</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-02-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 09:27:25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,742</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22569916</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/John_Steiner/pseuds/John_Steiner</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack Dumont led a respectable life and earned good money. Adored by a supportive wife, Jack was held as the ideal of his community. However, when extreme bodily growth revealed him to be a giant it destroyed his marriage and made him a pariah to his neighbors. In the dawning of Alter Idem, the backlash from human purists put Jack on the run. Gifted with a sharp mind, Jack needs to muster myriad of skills he read about and practiced, when he is hunted in the wilds of a national park.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Alter Idem [85]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1618813</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Stories of the Second Self: Jack of All Trades</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"He has to be here somewhere," one of the humans declared angrily, "Someone that huge doesn't just hide. Find him!"</p><p>I used to be a geologist and a damn good one too. People who once were my friends and neighbors know me as Jack Dumont. Little over a year ago, people like that would've seen me as an upstanding citizen, because I chose to work for oil and gas companies.</p><p>Then, the weird stuff started happening, like odd sightings and urban legends of magic and whatnot. It all came to a head when the werewolf kid was caught on camera being walked out of a school after taking down a couple gunmen. This, while the police were still trying to figure who was shooting the place up.</p><p>Rather than curtail attempts to snuff out the supernatural, it escalated. The kid's name was Mark, which was fitting because his coming out became the mark of a new calendar; Year Zero of Alter Idem. People argued if they should start with zero or one, but being that it was near the end of the school year and the convention was to still have years start with January it became a zero.</p><p>No longer having the world literally revolve around the birth of Christ seemed to royally get under the skin of christian fundamentalists. It bothered the rest of us Christians too, but I was willing to stay out of it so long as things went well in my life.</p><p>Then the growth started. At first, my wife was supportive, partly because she liked me tall and getting taller suited her fine. However, it didn't stop. When I hit seven foot, two, I realized I needed a doctor's visit. Batteries of tests eventually led to the discovery of an unknown hormone that, in conjunction with thousands of other patients, became known as Giant Growth Hormone. I grew another five and a half feet since then.</p><p>Once it was clear I too was a supernatural my God-fearing wife decided on divorce. We lived in the south, so that was a common occurrence, though I swore it'd never happen to me. Shortly after she moved out and took the kids, the hate mail and death threats began pouring in. My company fired me, and that quickly led to me defaulting on my house. Couldn't use my car, I had to sell off pretty much everything I had.</p><p>Then God's Chosen militias rose up. That's what they called themselves, and every megachurch pastor or televangelist who was anyone openly called for God's people to join the militias and fight against Satan's minions on Earth. Good thing I loved camping, because those skills saved my life.</p><p>I fled into a national park, one I'd previously surveyed when the feds let private companies look for natural gas on them, and lived off the land. Hunting was hard, because of my firearms collection none fit my enlarged hands. But for the park's wooded areas, I think these militias would've found me weeks ago.</p><p>As it was, they are getting too close, I notice while peering down the tree-lined slope of the mountain. With care, I slowly let the branches close together. I look like a mountain man what with all the buckskins I had to make for clothes. Back in my garage, I used to do a lot of leathercrafts as a hobby, so that was another edge I had over other giants suddenly feeling the ire of regular people.</p><p>Opting to hike uphill, I head back to the ravine that I made my home. Then, I stop and realize the mistake I am making. I could've gotten back before they caught up with me, but it occurs to me that I wouldn't catch and erase every hint of my trail. Either I went for more open ground and risked a chance sighting from far away, or my retreat broke so many branches that it would look like a dinosaur crashed through.</p><p>"Shit, shit, shit," I curse under my breath, and look around feeling helpless. "C'mon, think!"</p><p>The baying of a dog gets my heart going, which at my size is quite the sound in my ears. Daring another peek, I see that there are four hounds with them. My problems just got worse.</p><p>"Where'd you last see 'em?" the dog handle with long gray bear asks.</p><p>"Couple hours ago, but we got his foot print right here," a rounder hunter points out.</p><p>"Yeap," the old dog handle concurs, "Ain't no Bigfoot, that I know."</p><p>"Bigfoot?" I mutter, "Really?"</p><p>I'd been in this park for three months now, and if there's one thing I know there are no Bigfeet up here. I did catch sight of a puma and about pissed myself, not realizing that the animals were still in this state. Of course, the puma dropped its tail between its legs and ran for its life, reminding me of how little I have to fear from wildlife. Even the brown bears avoid me.</p><p>Drawing my handmade knife, I study it and check where the militiamen are. The knife I made from scrap metal after reading a survivalist book, and despite the heat discoloration of the steel it's held up well. I just don't know if I could use it to kill a man, even if I could get that close before being gunned down.</p><p>A break off to the right draws my attention. Someone was within maybe fifty yards of me and stepped on a twig. The fact they stopped moving leads me to realize they aren't just randomly wandering around.</p><p>I reposition myself to place another barrier of trees between me and the source of the sound. The right call, I discover when the person broke their cover to cross into view of where I had been before. Sure enough, they are toting an assault rifle not one for hunting.</p><p>"Dammit Earl," says another man, who comes into view after the first. "Told y'all to be quiet."</p><p>"You be quiet," this Earl hisses back, and then looks my way.</p><p>On their belts I see radios, and realize that if they spot me the entire militia would be up here and shooting. I don't like where this is going, but they keep coming, and I am out of escape routes.</p><p>"Hey, what's that up yonder?" the second guy indicates with his rifle barrel.</p><p>I didn't think I gave myself away, but they keep coming toward me. Looking at my knife again, I then look up with an ache in my heart. "Dear God, I'm sorry."</p><p>For this to work, I need them both to look elsewhere, and they eventually do. That is the moment I crash through evergreen trees at them. In a lunge, I hurl myself at the guy named Earl with my huge meaty knife-hand in the air. Never heard a man's scream be so shrill with terror as that, and I don't want to hear it again.</p><p>My knife not only goes clean through Earl, but pins him to the ground under me. I keep hearing yelling, and realize that the other guy just ran. Didn't even fire his gun, though I could've sworn someone got a shot off.</p><p>Earl very much dead, I worry about the other man warning the rest. I raced after him, leaving heavy cracking of trees in my wake. I'd never sprinted after the change, and so I’m surprised just how easily I catch up with the militiaman.</p><p>He turns to shoot me, but I have my hand on his rifle before he can get it pointed at me. His left forearm and right hand snap all too easily under my hold, as I tear the gun away from him. Didn't even bother with my knife again. I just kick him as hard as I can.</p><p>The militiaman is flung into a tree, and I hear more bones break before he falls limply to the ground. Panting fairly loudly, I wonder about the gunshots and check myself over. There is a hole in the side of my leather tunic around waist level, but in pulling it up I don't see that I'd been hit.</p><p>That might change, I realize when I hear the dog team and other men shouting. Yeah, they had to know where I am, and I just make tracks. Then, something crosses my mind.</p><p>Though, I couldn't use any guns I had gotten good at trapping and figure it’s time to test the ones I had set up. Rather than avoid the trail I came across, I decide to escape along it. I'd seen deer using it, and had been laying traps there since.</p><p>Sure enough, one guy falls into the pit I'd dug and his scream is cut short. I don't need to look to know he was impaled on the spikes. To be honest, I hope I don't even have to see it.</p><p>Figuring I'd overstayed my unwelcome in this park, I resign myself to retreating to my ravine camp with the rest of the militia guys in tow. I gain ground even at a brisk walk, and realize just how well suited to mountain life I am as a giant. But then their foot chase changes.</p><p>I hear the rumble and revving of sport utility vehicles and pickup trucks coming up the mountain trail. Despite the risks, I had to stop frequently to check the last stretch of trail to my camp. At the end, I duck down behind the pile of rocks and boulders I'd put up at the mouth of the ravine and pick up my remote that once went to a drone.</p><p>Waiting for every vehicle to be within view, I then pivot joystick controls, first down and then up. That sets off explosions starting with one that catches the last truck. The next hits the front vehicle, and from there I trigger all the rest.</p><p>After dirt, shattered branches, and other debris settles I don't hear anything from the militiamen. One engine is still running, but the splatter of red all over the inside of the windshield tells me no danger is posed there.</p><p>Guilt wells up in me, so I get up and reverently pass by each car down the line. I got 'em all, and feel bad for needing to do it. My PhD was in geology, but I had minors in chemistry and material science. Both paid off today.</p>
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